


Forbidden Geometry

by QueenBoo



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Frottage, Howard being so nerdy he gets off on estimations, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, Utter ridiculousness, Vince is packing, and Howard is a size queen, honestly I don't know what this is do not take it or me seriously, penis related math, there's numbers guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoo/pseuds/QueenBoo
Summary: When you wear tight clothes like Vince does, sometimes it's hard to stop the outline of your business being on show for all to see. Thankfully, Howard kind of likes being able to see.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Forbidden Geometry

**Author's Note:**

> I'm laying the blame for this entirely at @silentOrator and @Ladadee195 's feet because the Boosh discord is a magical place and it churns out the best ideas from the best people. This is nothing more than me acting as a conduit between their shenanigans and the rest of the world.   
> That being said, this may be the best and yet somehow worst thing I've ever written and I hope you enjoy it because I certainly had a blast writing it.

Howard has been staring at him for hours. 

He's not exactly subtle about it, either. Vince is hovering at the vanity table beside their bed, straighteners poised in one hand, and the reflection in the mirror is giving away how Howard's tiny eyes continually migrate south. No matter how many times he tries to bring them back to a respectable place, they are drawn down like a moth to a flame over and over again. 

And whatever he's finding down there was driving him down a  _ fascinating _ mental path, Vince thinks. Because whatever his partner is doing it’s not regular staring. Not the kind that Vince knows to mean Howard is gushing over him in his head. Nor even the kind that says the older man is about to pick a fight with him for one reason or another simply because he  _ can.  _

No, this is unabashed hunger with a twist. The kind of lust Vince is more than used to seeing on people's faces when they look at him but undercut with something ponderous. Almost like one of life's great mysteries can be found below Vince's belt. 

Honestly, he isn't entirely sure if he's turned on or worried by whatever is potentially brewing inside that big brain of Howard's. 

Vince manages to get the initial layers of his hair tamed before  _ the look _ starts driving him a bit wild. Especially given he no longer needs the aid of the mirror--he's looking right at the man and its plain as day Howard's eyelines is low enough to be in the gutter--to witness what's happening. 

"Can I help you?" Vince snaps. Prays to any god that might listen that the answer is an equally barked yes so that he can swallow his sinful thoughts directly from his mouth. 

Sadly. It isn't. 

Eyes whip to his, wide(ish) and filled with guilt. "Sorry." Howard says quietly. "Just thinking."

"Thinking while staring at my crotch." Vince points out, forcing a furious blush onto Howard's cheeks. All at once confirming his thoughts were definitely rooted in the region of  _ naughty.  _ "That's a line of thought I'd love to hear about."

Howard looks nothing short of panicked at the suggestion, which is entirely the wrong reaction to have in the presence of Vince. Vince feeds on information,  _ particularly  _ information that Howard was reluctant to share with him. He was like a hound catching a scent when he got going--no such thing as a secret to Vince Noir. 

Straighteners forgotten, he stalks over. Howard swallows thickly as Vince crawls his way up the bed, delicately drapes himself all over the older man with his knees planted either side of his hips. Dips his face low to brush their noses together. "Tell me what it was?" 

"Nothing." Howard repeats the word with as much false confidence he can manage, but his pink cheeks and firm grip where his hands settle at his waist give him away. "Just ignore me."

"Oh I can't do that, 'oward." Vince drops a hand to Howard's cheek, thumb drawing over his bottom lip sensually. "Not when you're looking like you're havin' some  _ well _ perverted thoughts."

"They weren't  _ that  _ perverted."

This at least confirms to Vince that there was in fact some level of cheekiness to be explored here. Drawing it from him was going to be the problem. Vince has never minded being the one to take the lead in the bedroom, thus far it had worked well for them. However, Vince is also not blind to the fact his partner has needs he is a bit timid to give voice to sometimes. Took the man months to gain confidence enough to start taking a bit more initiative when they had sex. 

So if it was a question of something Howard wanted to explore? Vince was on board one hundred percent. 

"You gonna tell me then?" He asks, voice muffled where he has replaced his hand with his face. Nuzzling gentle kisses into his cheek in order to give Howard a sense of privacy during his admissions.

Even then the answer does not come quickly. Vince is left to mouth the entirety of his jaw, scraping teeth over stubble, while Howard considers. 

There is a very real chance of him losing his nerve, until Vince's hips wriggle down into Howard's lap and his tongue darts out against his ear. Then he has apparently had all the convincing he needs. 

"You wear a lot of tight clothes, you know." Howard breathes; large hands grip roughly at his rolling hips, stilling them. 

"Yeah and?" As always, Vince's brain is roughly four steps ahead of where it should be. Frantically scrambling to conclusions before he has all the information. 

Is this going where he thinks it may be going. Any of the places he thinks it could be going--there are plenty he's managed to conjure up already. 

_ "What a naughty boy putting yourself on show like that, I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."  _ Howard had certainly expressed interest in that kind of play before, they just hadn't worked up to it past it being used as dirty talk. But if he got creative with it? Tight clothing can be very  _ trapping  _ if you're not careful. Drainpipes pulled round your knees makes it very hard to move about. Especially if you're bent over the bed, face down arse up and--

"It means I can see your…" Howard cuts himself off, adorably, and it stalls Vince's filthy daydreams enough for him to tune back into the conversation. 

"Use your words, Howard." He encourages. 

Clearing his throat, Howard forcibly drags himself away from the bumbling virgin persona and fixes an--almost believable--mask of confidence on his features. "It means I can see your cock, Vince." There's still anxious energy swimming in his gaze but it's slowly drowning under waves of mischief and arousal. "And I can't help but wonder how you manage to fit yourself into these  _ tiny  _ pants."

He’s speaking in a low rumble, the kind he knows makes heat lick down Vince's spine. Makes tingled pleasure curl low in his abdomen. 

Vince draws his tongue over his lips, "Keep talking."

"I think," Howard drags Vince a little closer by his belt loops. He sits straighter from where he had been reclined against the headboard of their bed, presses forward enough to tickle Vince's ear with his moustache. "That I can work out how big you are from the outline in your trousers."

Vince doesn't mean to laugh. He truly doesn't. But the words sink in, and it spills from him too fast for him to stop it. Tiny girlish giggles tripping from his throat. Howard doesn't appear offended, more than used to them laughing at one another in affection-- knows there's no intention to be cruel involved-- and he patiently waits it out. 

"Hang on, you were staring at my dick for ages trying to work out my measurements rather than just asking me?" Vince clarifies. He curls his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Howard neck, strokes there comfortingly as he speaks. "You've seen my cock Howard. I could just tell you, if you  _ need  _ specifics."

"Where's the fun in that?" 

Honestly, sometimes Vince forgets that Howard finds things like this fun. That he can spend hours organising stationery or measuring the angles the furniture sits at. Of course the specifics of anatomy would turn him on. 

Well. There's very little Vince will say no to where Howard is concerned, if some boring body math is what gets him going, who was he to deny him? The only thing he's struggling to picture is how he benefits from this. 

Vince isn't exactly a selfish lover but who doesn't love an orgasm. 

"Well, what will I need to do?" 

Howard's eyes widen; surprised Vince is even considering it. "What?" 

"Look, I don't  _ get _ it, but if this is what you’re into I ain’t gonna say no. What do you want me to do." 

There's no chance for words, Vince finds himself dragged forward with force and Howard claiming his mouth in nothing short of a filthy kiss. Vince can't help himself but to whine, hips rolling down into Howard as the man makes quick work of prying his lips apart and delving his tongue into his mouth. 

It might just be enough to get him halfway there if Howard keeps going the way he is. Fingers burrowing into his hair and tugging with a delicious sting; free hand dragging him by his hip down into a delicious grind. 

"Is Naboo still home?" Howard pants into his shoulder, hands dropping low to cup at his arse. 

It takes a second for Vince's brain to work enough to answer. "Shit. Yes. He's not going out until four." And it's as good as a red light for Howard. No matter how Vince tried to keep him interested with pouted lips and wriggling hips. 

"No. You can't be quiet and we don't need to be evicted for excessive noise." Howard scolds, uses the bruising grip to direct him from his lap. "Anyway, I think you should finish doing your hair."

The connotations of which do not dawn on Vince immediately. At first he can do nothing but frown at Howard like he’s gone mad, knowing full well whatever he's going to do to him once their flatmates leave will ruin whatever work he manages to achieve on his hair anyway. It isn't until he registers the hungry looks Howard is dipping to his tight jeans that Vince clicks on. 

"You're a freak." He says affectionately. Drops a peck to his lips and then departs. Slides free to move for his vanity table again. Though this time he does not turn his back as he works. Flicks their radio on and sways his hips as he sections off bits of hair to straighten. He makes a point to ensure Howard has a good vantage point for his mental maths; and an imaginative range of angles from which to draw inspiration from. 

Surprisingly… It's hot. 

Howard’s gaze is as weighty as his palm when he wants it to be. Right now, the way it darts about his frame with such hunger Vince can almost physically feel it. His skin tingles with the phantom sensation of caresses, aches with the ghost of a grip. It’s making his knees weak. Enough that rare snatches of eye contact have him panting for breath and terrified he’ll come at the first  _ real  _ touch. 

Without contact Vince is already half-hard in his pants, which might throw off whatever Howard is trying to do. But he can't help it. He's always been a sucker for attention, especially this kind from this particular person. Honestly, he’d always had a secret fantasy about being watched by those tiny brown peepers; being caught mid-wank and urged to go on while a stone faced Howard just  _ watched.  _

So yeah, maybe this is doing it for him. 

Vince loses himself to the heady weight of it enough that when the telltale noise of a bedroom door opening sounds, he’s almost surprised by how fast time has flown over. Shuffling steps and the heavy padding of gorilla feet down stairs before the click of the door signals that they are finally alone. 

The tension in the room ramps up; tickles against Vince’s insides. Heat twists in his gut. He’s sweating, his throat is dry.

Howard sits straight, slides to the edge of the bed to plant his feet on the floor and spreads his knees wide; inviting Vince between them. The V space welcomes him like a home away from home. The whole intoxicating display is topped off with the gentle order of, “Come here.” 

Vince doesn’t need to think about it. He steps into Howard’s reach and allows himself to be dragged closer by his hips. That’s as far as the contact goes though; Howard seemingly content to just observe Vince’s body from this closer angle. 

It’s utter torture for all of three minutes before Vince whines, “Howard.” 

Finger-tips trace along the inseam of his trousers and Vince has to grit his teeth to keep from throwing a tantrum about this teasing nature Howard seems to thrive on. 

"You make it difficult you know, wearing heels all the time." Howard says conversationally, palm pressing flat against the meat of Vince’s thigh and tucking his thumb along the inside; gently sweeping back and forth. 

Vince might have whiplash. "You what?" 

"You in heels all the time; makes it tough to make any accurate calculations.” The fact he manages to sound even remotely composed as he bunches the fabric of Vince’s t-shirt upward and delivers a series of kisses to Vince’s bare hips-- it’s nothing short of unfair. “Means I’m going to have to estimate.” 

Perhaps the boldest part of this entire encounter is that Howard believes him to still be listening. Vince’s brain dissolved into white noise around the time his partner’s lips tickled at his exposed stomach, at exactly the same moment that expert fingers tug roughly at his studded belt and forces a gasp from his throat. 

Not accustomed to being a passive participant, Vince reaches down to pull his shirt over his head as Howard busies himself unzipping his flies and peeling tight denim away from his legs. His little pink pants are left in place, though, and Vince slides himself into Howard’s lap with the intention of hurrying him along from the maths and further into the fucking part of the evening. 

Howard melts against him as soon as their mouths meet, palms gripping at his thighs and grunting with each delicious roll of Vince’s hips. He almost thinks he’s won, but as he dips his head low to bite into the side of Howard’s neck-- the larger man hissing a breath in through his teeth at the sting-- but in the blink of an eye Howard has hauled him to the side and dropped him back on the bed. He crawls up Vince body, drops kisses along his ribs and then takes his mouth for a quick but heat filled exchange. 

Then he’s gone, once more lowering himself down the man’s thin pale body to instead press open mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs. Vince keens high in his throat, “Howard, please.” 

“Shush,” Howard nips at his skin, Vince moans embarrassingly loud. “Sit still and let me work, you little tart.” 

“Bit difficult to do when you’re-- _ fuck! _ ” Vince throws his head back against the sheets when a heavy palm cups him through his pants. 

Pressing his hips up, Howard takes pity on him long enough to grind the heel of his palm into Vince’s cock and the end result is the man shouting. He twists his fists in the sheets and rolls his hips in time with the motion. 

Howard continues to talk as he tortures Vince. “You’re roughly five foot nine, aren’t you?” 

And look, Vince is not far gone enough to let that blatant attempt at winding him up slide. “Fuck off!” He utters through gritted teeth; he’s rewarded with the removal of his hand and a swat to this thigh instead. 

“Your heels don’t fool me, little man.” Howard replies, shuffling up Vince’s body to capture a pouting lip between his own lips and settles himself against Vince’s bodies-- their crotches pressed together. He rolls his hips downwards  _ hard  _ and Vince sobs. “Statistically speaking your inseam would be thirty-three inches,” Howard utters into his ear, slides his palm along Vince’s leg until he can grip at his hips and pull him into into his next drive downwards-- it’s a good thing they waited until Naboo was out, Vince’s throat is raw already how he screeches. “Which makes your Femur approximately eighteen inches.”

“We need to work on your dirty talk,” Vince breathes; his own body moving in tandem with Howard’s now constant rolling hips. It had taken a second to clock onto the rhythm, seemingly random as it is, but Howard will drive into him once, twice, then retreat for a more gentle shallow roll. Naturally, Vince is already there with him. 

Howard ignores him. “Which means you must be  _ at least  _ eight inches.” 

Honestly, he isn’t sure if he supposed to reply, because that’s the exact moment Howard chooses to dip his hands between them and start tugging off his pants. “Subject to a more thorough examination, I think.” 

And all Vince’s brain, and his mouth, can chant is, “Please, please, please--” 

“Shh, you’ve been so good.” Howard praises, and Vince keens. Howard is gone from his body once more, sliding down the bed and taking Vince’s pants with him. Thankfully, as much as he can read books and math equations, Howard can read Vince like nothing else and knows that all the teasing has put him closer to the edge than he’s proud of. 

He wastes no time at all swallowing as much as he possibly can of Vince down in one go. One hand wraps at the base, words in tandem with his rapidly bobbing head, and Vince curls his toes at the rush of pleasure of it all. 

“Fuck, fuck I can’t--” Really, Vince didn’t think when Howard had started going on about maths and anatomy he would find it this hot, but all the attention? The fleeting teasing touches and gradual build of intensity-- it’s too much. He’s already on the edge. Finger’s sink into Howard’s curls, tug just enough to help him along and then Howard sinks his free hand below his balls and presses at his hole and that’s it. He comes with screeched expletives and Howard’s name.

The world goes a bit fuzzy for a moment. He’s dimly aware of Howard drawing away and wiping at his mouth while Vince catches his breath. 

That’s all he gets though, just a moment. Then Vince is on him like a jungle cat. 

“You fucker.” He hisses, scrambles up as fast as his liquid limbs will let him, and shoves hard at Howard’s shoulder until the man topples back and Vince can cover him. He takes his mouth harshly, tongue pressing into his mouth as nimble fingers unbutton his horrifically patterned shirt. Vince doesn’t even want it off just out of the way so as soon as it’s open he’s sinking down Howard’s body to kitten lick at his nipples and nibble across his tummy. 

Trousers are opened, tugged down with as little care as the rest of the outfit had been shown, and then Vince is spitting into his hand and jerking Howard in a quick sloppy rhythm. 

It’s enough, Howard’s hand is latched around his wrist to encourage him; fingernails biting into his pulse point as he hisses deities and prayers up to the ceiling. 

A second later Vince is spitting into his palm a second time and searching fingers probe between Howard’s cheeks while he dips his head to mouth at the underside of Howard’s cock. He can already tell the man is close too-- thighs trembling either side of his head, trousers around his ankles trapping him from squirming too much. 

Working up to two fingers isn’t too difficult-- they’re still in a honeymoon phase at the moment-- and Vince sets up a punching pace as retribution for all his teasing. Fingering him roughly as he swallows his cock into his throat and moans around him the way Howard likes. 

As soon as he finds the other man’s prostate he twists his wrist expertly and Howard comes down his throat with a strangled moan. 

"You're such a freak." Vince pants hoarsley, drawing away and flopping beside his sweaty partner. "Getting off on numbers like that."

"It’s not just the numbers," Howard argues, voice low and sleepy. "It's mostly you."

"Well good.” Vince snickers. “Cause all your estimations were a bit off."

"What?" 

"I'm somewhere between six and seven actually. But I’m flattered anyway.” Vince turns his head, catches Howard frowning at him and he winks. “And I’m actually five ten.” 

Howard rolls his eyes so hard that Vince chokes on his laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe I actually did this. 
> 
> I'll take judgement on a postcard.


End file.
